


head in the game

by holdenscoffee (spacebarista)



Category: The Expanse (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, F/F, Pining, Prompt Fic, Tumblr Prompt, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-03 19:25:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13347900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacebarista/pseuds/holdenscoffee
Summary: Drummer's always prided herself on her compartmentalizing. But thoughts of a certain engineer just can't escape her no matter what she does.





	head in the game

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a tumblr prompt for Drummer/Naomi where I had to work in the line "I can't stay away". 
> 
> I'm pretty nervous about this one, not going to lie. When I got this prompt I wasn't sure I could do it for various reasons (none of which are "I hate this ship" so like please don't get that idea). But I gave it a shot, and I think I did okay. And if I can put more thought into things, maybe I can do more. I've really agonized over this in more ways than one, and I hope it pays off.
> 
> PS I DID slip Drummer's first name in, now that it's been revealed in the books. Not sure if it will be so on the show, so I'm sorry in advance if it's not something you wanted to know. I just felt like it fit for a Naomi and Drummer who are close (unlike in the books).
> 
> I really hope y'all like it. Please leave a review if you can!

Drummer grunts as she hits the ball back at the wall. Sweat helps the controlled station air to cool her work-out heated skin. She’s been at it for almost an hour. It’s easier not to think when she’s focused on making sure she doesn’t lose her streak. Left. Right. Up high. The game is harder when you’re alone, but certainly not impossible.

 

Doesn’t keep her from wishing she _wasn’t_ alone. Or in a certain engineer’s company.

 

It’s been almost two weeks since the _Rocinante_ left Tycho. Off to Ganymede to take care of errant protomolecule traces. An endless mission, if Protogen had any say in the matter. An endless _suicide_ mission. The way things are between the captain of the _Rocinante_ and the head of Tycho Station, she doesn’t expect to see or hear from them once they’ve accomplished whatever the hell they hope to out there.

 

So here she is, working out her stress and concern for Naomi in the one of the last places they had fun together.

 

Drummer trusts that she’ll be okay. While the crew of the _Rocinante_ isn’t always the smartest or most capable, they’re skilled at what they each do, and unbelievably lucky. Above all, those men would do anything to protect Naomi. She’s seen it in their eyes and heard it in stories of their actions. If anything, she can trust that crew to do that. If Naomi can’t do it herself, which, _of course_ she can. Doesn’t help to have extra assurance.

 

But none of them know what’s going on on Ganymede. What fresh hell Protogen will unleash on the Belters next. The _Rocinante_ crew is just running towards it. _Naomi_ is running towards it. As brave as it is stupid.

 

Drummer cries out as she jumps high to smack at the ball, pulling her stitches. She isn’t supposed to be _this_ active. She’d almost died. She still remembers the pain of the bullet, the strain of trying to breath in wrong air, the press of Holden’s large hand against her side, the satisfaction of shooting the pashang mutineers right between the eyes. Fuck the doctor’s orders. She can’t sit still. She can’t just _work_. She needs the thoughts to leave her. The worry. The _fear_. She needs pain, the exertion, the ache, the thirst, the adrenaline… it’ll erase everything else.

 

Drummer dives when the ball goes low, hitting it back to the wall but hitting the floor hard with a gasp. The ball ricochets, bouncing away with no partner to catch it for her. Drummer stays down, trying to catch her breath. It’s no use. No matter how far she pushes her limits, no matter how much it hurts to move or breathe, the fear still sits in her heart.

 

The fear that Naomi won’t come back. Won’t come back to _her_. That Protogen will finish the job they started when they nuked the _Cant_ and sent Naomi on a collision course with her. Emotion wells in her throat and she chokes it down. _Not now. Not here_.

 

Drummer had taught herself to keep her emotion in check, or buried deep down. Working with a bunch of bull-headed Earther men her whole career forced her to learn to play tough, to be an unreadable stone of a woman. Any weakness, and someone could swoop in and throw her aside, claiming anything from insubordination to hard-core OPA affiliation to remove her and put someone more malleable in her position. That determination to be stronger, better, had made her Fred Johnson’s right hand on Tycho. The second most powerful person on the station. She’d earned respect through thinly-veiled intimidation and cold efficiency. And all of it built on her ability to control her emotions through focus and compartmentalizing.

 

Until it becomes too much.

 

Her breathing slows, her heart and mind slowly calm with each gulp of air. Naomi is smart. Naomi is capable. Naomi is strong and powerful and _beautiful_ and she _has_ to be okay.

 

Once she’s calmed herself down, Drummer pushes herself to her feet. It takes far more effort than she’d like it to. Her gunshot wound burns. She focuses on it, pushing the last of the unwanted emotions away. She can dig them back up at home, soaking in epsom salt with a bottle of good Ganymede gin.

 

Fuck doctor’s orders.

 

She grabs her bag, a small groan slipping from her lips as she straightens back up. The door slides open and boots scuff in behind her. Just in time.

 

“Yeah, yeah, Grecko. I know. Time’s up. I just have to find my ball, and—”

 

“It’s right here, I’ve got it.”

 

Drummer’s breath catches. For a moment, she’s taken back: back to a somehow _lighter_ , freer time. One of success and celebration, when she spent hours and hours with that voice. And when things started to get heavier, that voice was a source of calm, confidence, and reassurance that things would be fixed. She blinks. It takes a few breaths to remember it’s now and it’s new and the voice she hears _isn’t_ in her head. She looks over her shoulder at the open door.

 

And Naomi Nagata shoots her a sheepish grin, bouncing the ball in her hand.

 

It still takes Drummer a moment to process that what she’s seeing is real. That the _Roci_ had come back without her knowledge. That _Naomi_ had come back without letting her know. That she’s standing right there, with a duffel bag at her feet and a sad twist in her grin. She’s _right here_. Everything Drummer wants to say jumbles together in her head—part of her is embarrassed she can’t find her composure and shove her nerves into their box.

 

“You’re back,” she states, awe and excitement and caution mingling together in her tone. It’s not what she wants to say, but it’s all she _can_ say.

 

Naomi smiles anyway. It’s beautiful and welcome and still somehow _pained_. Drummer wants to kiss it away. “Yeah, I am.”

 

Drummer finds herself moving towards her before she can even think that she wants to. She drops her bag beside Naomi’s, keeping her gaze on her as if she’ll vanish back onto the _Roci_ the second she looks away.

 

“Why?”

 

Naomi opens her mouth and snaps it shut again. The sadness flickers through her eyes again, and Drummer notices the shadows beneath her eyes. She takes a breath. Takes Drummer’s hand in her cool, strong fingers. Warmth radiates through her from the touch. Naomi flips her hand over and presses the ball into her palm. She meets Drummer’s gaze, the weariness and pain replaced with what Drummer _hopes_ is affection. She smiles.

 

“I couldn’t stay away, Camina.”

 

There’s more to it. There _has_ to be. Her heart sinks and she clears her throat. She doesn’t want to ask. “Is that all?”

 

This time, Naomi’s face doesn’t falter. Her smile just widens. “No. It isn’t. But it’s not the smallest reason. I was happy with you.” She doesn’t let go of her hand.

 

“I feel like we should talk.”

 

“I agree,” Naomi says, letting go of her hand and bending to grab her bag. And Drummer’s. “And you should hydrate.”

 

Drummer’s lips quirk. “Beers?”

 

Naomi hums, smile growing a little bit mischievous. “Beers.”

 

When Naomi heads back out of the room, heading out of the gym itself, Drummer follows her. It’s easy. The coming talk might not be. The explanations of what’s really going on, and what may or may not come after. Drummer may not know what’s going on in Naomi’s incredible mind. But she does know what she wants to happen after she finds out.

 

No matter why, Naomi’s come back to her. That enough stirs a confidence in Drummer that isn’t built on a facade. The fear is gone, the adrenaline is renewed and new.

 

And Drummer is going out to grab beers with Naomi Nagata.

 

 


End file.
